


A Poor Use Of Good Coffee

by snow_in_italian



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: also yes the shitty baklava is based on some i bought and was terribly disappointed by, andy has no clue how to function as a mortal, booker and quynh arent directly in this but theyre mentioned pmuch the same as the other 4, joe and yusef are used interchangeably - same for andy, nicky pov but not nicky centric i tried to have a general focus, the squad has a thing for baklava and not even they know why, this is arguably about the booker-shaped hole he left
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:34:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25535926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snow_in_italian/pseuds/snow_in_italian
Summary: Laying low in a rural mining village, the remaining members of the guard reminisce with the help of coffee, vodka, and some particularly cheap baklava.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 3
Kudos: 105





	A Poor Use Of Good Coffee

None of them are entirely sure when the bet started. Booker was the betting man amongst them, the man who, for several years, had made every tiny tradition a competition or a gamble in order to entertain himself through never-ending existence, but the game itself far preceded his emergence. Thinking back, Nicky vaguely recollected the origins- he, or Yusef, or Quynh, would enquire what their food was made of, and without missing a beat, Andy would list off the ingredients. Quynh, having been around nearly as long as their leader, shared similar skill, but nowhere near the same degree of accuracy. Quynh could identify the flavour, where Andy could tell you the exact herb and spice combination, even the province of origin, if pushed to do so.

So, they had begun to ask more frequently. He didn’t know at what point it became a game, or when it was the norm, or why baklava in particular had taken centre stage, but it had. And when Quynh was long lost to the ignorance of men, and Booker had risen from Napoleon’s battle to join them, it had moved from simply a game to a bet. Not always involving money, sometimes booze or weapons or, simply, stories, during the more mundane years.

In spite of the absence of their designated gambler, Nicky had swiped a collection of baklava’s into his basket, along with a few essentials (namely coffee and vodka), and went to pay. It was an odd find, for such an area. The four of them had recently taken up residence in a safe house just above Yorkshire, a little mining village that would have been unassuming, were it not for the vast maze of abandoned and soon to collapse tunnels that lined a significant region under the village. There were no more than a thousand residence- both a blessing and a curse when trying to lay low- and while the shops were well stocked with canned goods and perishables, baklava hardly seemed to be a predictable item to don the shelves. Granted, the entire section of the shelf appeared untouched, and the packaging was cheap plastic, beneath which the treats seemed to have merged into chunks of pastry and syrup, but still. As much as Andy had rolled her eyes at the concept, Nicky still liked to believe in destiny. After all, it had brought him time with the love he would have otherwise never known, friends who had become family closer than any before, and now, cheaply made baklava. Fate was a bizarre mistress.

Once back to the tunnel entrance on the outskirts of town, largely obscured from view by a tree whose collapse was too well positioned to be down to nature alone, he scanned the area to ensure he wasn’t being followed. Logically, Nicky knew that they had only been so tracible because of Booker’s betrayal, but it didn’t stop the anxiety from rolling over him, the metal of his concealed firearm cold against his skin. He’d liked Booker, still liked Booker, but his betrayal could have cost them more than he was willing to think about. To be trapped, for people like them, was a torture no ordinary person could conceive of. At least while mortal he had known- or rather _believed _\- that any battle could have been his last, even if he’d been captured, then there would have always come a release, one way or another. For people like them, things were not so simple; to be tied down, or locked up, could mean eternity in such a state- that they had learned the hard way.__

__Shaking such thoughts from his mind, Nicky finished his scan of the area, choosing to ignore the unhelpful feeling of being watched, and made his way through the tunnels. Even if someone were to follow them to the entrance, he doubted many would succeed in reaching their camp. He was fortunate enough to have a good memory when it came to directions- Nile, on the other hand, had already set off two traps, including a crossbow and a bear trap, while trying to navigate her way back to base. He dread to think how many trips and wrong turns ended in another revival._ _

__They’d made the place surprisingly cosy for what appeared to be a disused mine shaft. A few lamps and lanterns spread across the area, a banged up old settee that Nicky couldn’t remember being there before he’d departed on the supply run, and a laptop had been set up as a TV. Usually, Booker had been in charge of all things electronic, having been the youngest until very recently, but Nile seemed to be doing fine managing, gathering by the news which sounded from the device._ _

__“Any trouble?” Andy was sat at a makeshift table of piled up boxes, a first-aid kit spread out in front of her, along with a number of books detailing how each element should be utilised. She vacantly poked at a collection of bandages, eyebrows scrunched with a confusion not often seen on their elder’s face. It was odd to see her struggle with something that seemed so mundane, having seen her take down armies with ease and obliterate enemies like a force of nature, she gave off an aura of ‘never question me’. Despite never having the need of first aid supplies, some part of Nicky had assumed she would have simply known how they were applied automatically, as she appeared to know so many other things that were foreign to him. He wondered how he, or Yusef, or even Nile who was growing more careless with her newfound ability, would cope under Andy’s situation. They’d all find out, one day, he supposed. Everything had its end- even them._ _

__“Other than being short-changed by the cashier…” Nicky greeted Yusef, who was hunched over his sketch book, with a kiss on the head. He couldn’t quite see what his former-enemy-turned-fellow-immortal-ally-turned-lover-turned-everything was sketching, but he caught a glimpse of a graphite-shaded bottle. They’d all seen Booker a number of times in their sleep since his ‘departure’. Perhaps Joe was hoping committing the images to paper would keep them at bay for a time. Nicky doubted it._ _

__Placing the bag next to a camping stove, Nicky boiled water for coffee, offering each a generous portion of vodka to suit (giving Andy a double as she raised an eyebrow at his measure), before collapsing to the settee, careful enough to not disturb the carefully formed lines that Joe drew, leaving the coffee at the centre. Nile had taken residence on a nearby wooden stool, one that seemed particularly uncomfortable, judging by the way she readjusted herself every few seconds, as she retrieved her own cup. Nicky bit down a laugh at the way her face twisted at the strength of the _additional flavouring _, though Yusef and Andy showed no such curtsey.___ _

____“Have any of you ever died of alcohol poisoning?” Nile stared into her mug thoughtfully, swirling the liquid. In the corner of his eye, Andromache downed her own portion, refilling the cup with simple vodka, before downing that in turn. _A waste of good coffee _, he thought silently.  
“I don’t think any of us have- at least not that I’ve heard about,” Joe closed the leather-bound sketch book between his hands, exchanging it for a mug, graphite stains decorating his fingers. He cast a glance towards Andy, who seemed to be thinking the question through with somewhat concerning consideration- or, at least, it would have been, had they not all died too many times to count.___ _ _ _

______“Not that I remember… I mean, I’ve not even had a hangover since this shit started. Your body tends to heal before you can get to that stage,” she eyed up the bottle of cheap vodka where she’d placed it to her right, before pouring another serving, and offering the bottle around the poorly formed circle. Shrugging, Nicky added a serving to his own, and Joe’s, cup, stopping at Nile’s as her hand shot to cover it. “Oh, and you’re gonna want to drink way faster than that if you want it to have an effect- like I said, your body heals quick. That includes trying to regulate your blood content.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______She wasn’t wrong, of course, as an ex-priest he’d had his fair share of drunken nights which seemed to be unachievable for some time following his rebirth, but Nicky thought better than to point out that you also didn’t have to drink like a soldier on a suicide mission in order to feel tipsy as an immortal. When Nile’s hand moved, however, he added a fair portion, before placing the bottle down. Had Booker been present, he wondered how long the bottle would’ve lasted- hell, he would’ve bought another bottle had Booker been present. Which reminded him of the cheap baklava sitting in the plastic bag._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Ah,” he said, without really intending to, retrieving the packet. “What’s your bets?” As he revealed the packaging from beneath the opaque material, Andromache rolled her head back dramatically, a somewhat sad smile on her face. He scanned the back of the packaging to find it was produced in the UK, using a family recipe from Greece, though the story-based description of the product seemed exaggerated for a feigned authenticity that he doubted the taste could carry. Which meant it probably would throw her off the scent, he wagered, as Andy hovered over the pieces, before clawing off a small section with a collection of nuts at the centre. “My bets she gets the ingredients, not the location. And… my revolver.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Yusef raised an eye at the wager, inspecting the packaging, though to Nicky’s relief, appeared to skim past the story of the recipe’s origin.  
“I’m all in, she’ll figure out the ingredient, and the location. On… my sleeping roll.” As Yusef finished, Nicky shot him an incredulous look.  
“You mean _our _sleeping roll?”  
“Well, when I win, I get to keep it, _and _your revolver,” the other man tipped his head to the side playfully. It was only then that Nile interrupted._____ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Wait, what’s going on?” Her face was scrunched in confusion, eyes flickering between Andy and the baklava. Momentarily, she eyed up her mug, as if the vodka had already somehow gone to her head. “What are you betting on?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________So, Nicky explained. Andy’s unexplained, and largely unhelpful, skill. The hobby they’d created from it. Booker’s need to create a gamble from a game. And the baklava, which was a constant for reasons that none of them quite knew. By the end, she still seemed a little confused by such an event, though her initial scepticism turned to analysis, as Nile picked up a piece for herself, pausing to taste the flavours, as she flipped the packet over to read the back.  
“I’ll make dinner for a week if I’m wrong. Andy will guess the ingredients, where they’re from, _and _where the recipe is from.” Nicky felt a hint of both pride and annoyance that she’d made the detail about the recipe, something he knew Booker wouldn’t have bothered to check before making such a deal, and that Joe hadn’t recognised as relevant.  
“And if you win?” Andy enquired, baklava still sat in her palm.  
“Then I guess I’m going to have extra warmth and protection tonight,” the youngest of the almost immortals smirked around the group, a little smug.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The three turned their gaze back to Andromache as she chewed, a dramatic silence falling between them in a way that would have been comedic were it not for the stakes gambled.  
“Cheap,” Andy shot at Nicky’s general direction, eyes never leaving a spot on the ceiling. “Almonds and pistachios, way too much cinnamon. Hint of lemon. It’s definitely not authentic but it’s trying to be.” _Shit _, Nicky mused. “Made in the UK, but its using a recipe from…” The silence seemed to grow more tense with every second Andy let them hang in the moment, fully aware of what she was doing, and waving her finger’s for an infuriating effect. “Greece.”  
“Cazzo di inferno.” Nicky flung himself back into the worn-down cushions of the settee, Yusef leaning forward to bury his head in his hands. Nile looked justifiably smug, as Nicky reached for the revolver, throwing it haphazardly to the table. Why he continued to bet on these things, he did not know. He’d lost to Booker for years- a true gambling man knew he was betting on a winner before the idea of competing had really formed- and it seemed that Nile had shared the Frenchman’s skill to defeat him in his own game.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“Well, you two feel free to start a fire,” the youngest of them tilted her head to the side, “can’t imagine freezing to death is all that fun.”  
“It isn’t.” From the distance in Andy’s voice, it was near impossible to tell if she was musing or joking about her mysterious past. Nicky was quite certain that he and Yusef shared the position of knowing the most (perhaps second to the woman beyond their reach) about the long years Andy spent before any of them were so much as a speck of being, but even then, beyond what they’d seen, and been told by Quynh, they knew very little. He’d presumed nearly a millennia spent in another’s company would make everyone, and anyone, an open book- he’d presumed wrong._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________“I’ve got to say, you usually have better taste than this, Nicky, I expected better,” Andy had taken up another piece of baklava, twisting it between her fingers as if inspecting for signs of counterfeit._____  
“Well,” he started, “surprisingly there wasn’t much choice, given we’re miles from genuine civilisation, and on a budget of next to nothing.”  
“Well, maybe if you stopped loosing bets to all of our friends,” Joe interrupted, and while it appeared subconscious, it was impossible to ignore the use of ‘friends’ where ‘Booker’ would have usually been, “we could have stocked up before coming here.” He lightly slapped the back of his hand into Yusef’s chest, a remarkably unthreatening move for an immortal being who was armed to the teeth at all times, and usually carrying an ancient sword. Besides them, Andy reached for the vodka, flicking off the top with her fingertips. While she carried herself well, there was a noticeable difference in how the alcohol was taking effect on her now, Nicky noticed- namely, that it was taking a noticeable effect. He’d seen her down bottles twice the size and twice the strength of this and still fight with intense precision, but now he could swear that there was a slight sway in the movement of her hand as she gripped the bottle. No more healing the alcohol content away, Nicky was willing to bet Andromache of Scythia was about to have her first hangover in centuries._ _ _ _

______________“Anyone want another coffee?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

**Author's Note:**

> sorry if this is at all ooc, but i was about to rewatch the film and thought about nile getting in on the baklava betting, so here we are- also yes its greek baklava, no that is not a stance on the greek/turkey 'who had it first' debate.


End file.
